Chapter 25

CHAPTER25

Agnes’ heart felt like it was being wrenched in half as she watched her beloved sister packing her belongings into the trunks and boxes they had brought with them. After experiencing the greatest afternoon of her life, floating on a cloud of new knowledge and the thrill of repeating memories that were hers to enjoy and hers alone, she had not expected Rose’s happiness to be forfeited. Although Agnes should have known there would be a price for neglecting her “motherly” duties; there was always a price for personal joy.

“They were not even near to us!” Rose lamented tearfully, stuffing a bonnet into a hatbox with a fury that Agnes had never witnessed before. “How could they have heard His Grace invite Lord Morton to dinner? Is dinner now forbidden?”

Agnes went to her sister’s side and helped her to pack. “I do not know, my dearest Rosie.”

“Would dinner have been so terrible? It is only eating and drinking! Why must we all leave, just because Lord Morton accepted an invitation to dine?” Rose hiccupped through her words, shoving elegant gowns and other adornments into a trunk as if they were naught but scraps for the ash pile. “We were to remain here for the rest of the season! Is it not cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face to return to the countryside when I am supposed to be seeking a husband?”

Agnes took the crumpled garments and folded them neatly, before placing them back into the trunk with a gentler hand. “They are worried for you, that is all. I know it seems cruel at present, but they know more of society than we do—Lady Finch does, at least. If she believes this is the best course for you, then we must heed her instruction.”

“But I have found the gentleman I wish to spend the rest of my days with already!” Rose snapped, exasperated. “I have done exactly what has been asked of me. I do not give a fig if he is a Baron! A Baron is enough for me, and he has done nothing to show he is unworthy. Everyone I have spoken to has confirmed his merits, yet they would keep me from him!” She sank down onto the edge of the bed and held her head in her hands. “I feel as if I am going quite mad!”

Agnes sat down next to her sister. “What if something could be done?”

“Nothing can be done,” Rose wailed, kicking a shoe halfway across the floor. “Mama has finally decided to behave like a mother and at the most inopportune moment! Why is she permitted to decide my future when she has not involved herself in my life for the past ten years?”

Agnes smiled sadly. “I cannot answer that, but do not lose hope.” She nudged her sister in the arm. “If something can be done, I shall find that something. I mean, who is to say that Lord Morton might not find out about the ball by himself? Perhaps, an invitation might accidentally be diverted to him, and it would not be his fault if he thought it was actually for him, now, would it?”

The upset had all begun on the journey back to London after the races. No one had been any the wiser to Agnes’ stolen moment of delicious impropriety in George’s carriage, nor did she suspect any of them would have cared, for they were too invested in the blossoming romance between Rose and Lord Morton.

“You are not to see him again!” their mother had declared as if she had any right to speak on her daughters’ futures. “Lady Finch does not approve, and I certainly do not approve of my most beautiful daughter marrying a lowly Baron. You are to find an Earl, like your father, and nothing less!”

“A Viscount would also be appropriate,” Lady Finch had countered, and Agnes’ mother had nodded effusively as if she had not just declared that anything below an Earl was unacceptable.

“He will not be dining with us, you will not be dancing with him again, and I hope this is the very last we shall see of that unworthy specimen. Truly, a gentleman who favors horse-racing and attending the opera alone cannot be trusted!” their mother had insisted, forgetting that they too were at the races.

Agnes did not know how her mother and Lady Finch had discovered that Lord Morton had been invited to dine. She had briefly suspected George, but there could not have been enough time for that before he had gone to his carriage where Agnes had been waiting for him. Perhaps, Lady Finch had other spies, watching and listening everywhere, but that prospect chilled Agnes more than any other.

What if I was seen with George in his carriage? She had fretted over it more than she cared to admit in the full day that had passed since she last saw him, but as Lady Finch had not said anything about it, she continued to convince herself that it was still a precious, confusing, wonderful, terrible secret.

Still, her secret joy did not change the fact that Lady Finch was leaving London and expected her wards and guests to follow. There was to be a ball at Finch Hall in the coming week which Agnes guessed was a sort of consolation prize for Rose where she could meet gentlemen who had already been selected by Lady Finch’s discerning hand. But the proposed dinner, and Lord Morton’s attendance at said dinner, was not to proceed.

Unless this hasty departure is to save my reputation, too? Agnes mused as her sister continued to dwell upon Agnes’ guarded scheme. No, that cannot be it… George was a near-permanent fixture at Lady Finch’s residence, and he would undoubtedly catch up with them. Unless, of course, the temptations of London kept him where he was. A leopard could not change its spots, after all, and no amount of hoping on Agnes’ part could tame George if he did not wish to be tamed.

Have I made a truly foolish mistake? She feared it, deep down in her bones.

“What are you suggesting?” Rose finally asked, tugging Agnes from her panicked reverie.

“I shall post an invitation before we depart,” Agnes explained, keeping her voice low. “Lord Morton, if he is the gentleman that I believe him to be, will come to you. I will ensure it as best I can.”

Rose’s eyes filled with tears as she threw herself at her sister, hugging her tightly. “You would do that for me?”

“I would do anything for you, sweet sister.” Agnes held her sister in return, remembering George’s kindly words and the endearing smile that had accompanied it—the words and the smile that might have led her astray that fateful afternoon: “I did not do it for Lady Rose.”

Indeed, kissing George was the first time in a decade that Agnes had done something purely for herself. It was the first moment in a decade when she had forgotten everything else, when duty and expectation and worry had faded to nothing in the warmth of his arms and the passion of his lips. Of course, some of those responsibilities had hit twice as hard afterward, but for that sweet slice of an afternoon, she had felt true freedom.

“Do you believe that I am in love?” Rose asked, more hesitantly. “Do you believe that Lord Morton loves me?”

Agnes stroked her sister’s long, silken hair. “I believe there is the possibility of it, and if you say that you have found the gentleman that you wish to spend the rest of your days with, I will support you.” She paused. “That being said, you should not be overly hasty.”

“What do you mean?” Rose’s lower lip began to tremble. “Do not say that you agree with them! I will not be able to bear it.”

“I have not said that” Agnes replied in a calm, firm voice. “But tell me this—has Lord Morton confessed love?”

Rose appeared to chew the inside of her cheek. “No, but—”

“Have you confessed your love?”

“No, but—”

“Then there is no need to rush,” Agnes interrupted gently. “That is why I think it is of vital importance that you are permitted to meet one another again. Several occasions, if possible, for how else will you be able to discover if he is the gentleman for you? Perhaps, you will find him less agreeable once you know him better. Perhaps, you will be even more besotted. But forbidding you from seeing him is unwarranted.”

Indeed, it will only make you want to see him more, and believe without doubt that he is your beloved, Agnes did not add that part aloud, but what their mother and Lady Finch were doing was akin to telling a child that they were not allowed to swim in the lake. It would only make them run into the lake faster and without thought.

“Thank you, Agnes.” Rose rested her head against her sister’s shoulder. “Thank you for understanding. I really did think I was about to take leave of my senses, but you have always anchored me. Truly, I do not know what I would do without you.”

Agnes kissed the top of Rose’s head. “You never need to find out. Even when you are blissfully wed to whomever your heart desires, all you need do is write to me—or light the beacons if you prefer—and I will be at your side without delay.” She smiled. “We could borrow some of Old Thomas’s pigeons and have them carry messages between us.”

“Goodness, I would leap out of my skin in fright if one were to bump into the window on a bleak winter’s night.” Rose shuddered in her sister’s embrace.

“We could ask Old Thomas to teach them to knock on the front door.” Agnes chuckled, imagining the scene.

Rose burst out laughing as Agnes had hoped she would. “That would terrify me even more! I would truly worry for my mind if I heard a tiny knock at the door and opened it to find a bird standing there!”

“Now, I must ask Old Thomas to teach the pigeons that.” Agnes drew in a steady breath, safe in the knowledge that a crisis had been averted.

Just then, a knock came at the door and both sisters snapped their heads toward the sound, bursting into a fresh bout of giggles as their mother entered. The older woman, however, looked anything but amused.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing, laughing and jesting like infants in a nursery?” she scolded, storming in. “We are due to depart at any moment, and yet you are still packing your belongings. Indeed, why are you packing your belongings? Where is your lady’s maid? Where are the servants? Where are—”

“I sent them away.” Agnes stood, putting herself between Rose and their mother. “Rose needed some peace and quiet, and I thought it best to allow her that. It is hard to find serenity when there is an endless stream of people coming in and out of your chambers.”

Their mother narrowed her eyes. “I hope you were not putting foolish notions into your sister’s head? If it were not for you and your meddling, we would be staying in London, and I was just beginning to enjoy myself!”

“This is not a holiday, Mother,” Agnes shot back. “This is not about your enjoyment, nor can you blame us for not experiencing amusement sooner. You were invited everywhere, and you refused. As for this accusation of meddling—I have done nothing of the sort.”

Her mother sniffed. “I saw you sneaking away from the stands. I know you conspired with His Grace in secret to arrange that dinner with Lord Morton, and if you were not already surplus to requirement, too old and too ill-mannered to ever find a husband, I would be appalled by your behavior. Indeed, you are fortunate that only I noticed you scurrying off, for if you had caused a scandal that could thwart my Rose’s prospects, I would have… I would have…”

“Sent me to a nunnery? Demanded that I shave my head and don a potato sack? Sent me to a home for other unwanted daughters?” The hurt of her mother’s words transformed into a bitterness that dripped from Agnes’ lips like venom. “And she is not your Rose. She belongs to no one but herself.”

Her mother turned purple. “You forget yourself, Agnes.”

“No, Mother, you forget the decade of abandonment you made Rose and I endure. And it seems you are also forgetting that you delayed everyone’s departure on our way to London. You likely would not have come here at all if His Grace had not scolded you, so do not think yourself so high-and-mighty now.” Agnes knew she should not bite when her mother wiggled the hook in the water, but she was tired of being deemed the discarded, undesirable one.

In truth, after her moment in the carriage with George, it had become a sore point, for if she truly was undesirable and too old to be of any merit at all, then that kiss—that life-altering, monumental kiss—might be her first and last. Not only that, but it might prove to be the beginning of a heartbreak that would crush her. Before George, she had been quite content with the prospect of spinsterhood. Before George, she had known she would be able to endure solitude. But being kissed by him had put a crack in her high defensive walls, revealing the truth: she had always been terrified of a lonely, miserable, loveless future, but she had just been hiding it so deep within herself that she did not have to think about it.

“Prepare your things immediately,” their mother hissed. “The servants will be coming to collect your luggage in ten minutes. I expect you both to be punctual. It is the least you can do, considering you have forced Lady Finch to change her plans.”

Their mother did not wait to receive another chiding. Turning on her heel, she flounced out of the bedchamber though her stomping footfalls could be heard long after.

“I suppose we should hurry,” Rose said quietly, but Agnes shook her head.

“There is no need.” Agnes flashed a wink. “Remember, do not be hasty. We would not want to accidentally leave anything behind.”

She went to her sister’s writing desk and sat down, slicing a rectangle of paper. Dipping a quill into black ink, she paused for a moment, contemplating what she was going to write to Lord Morton. It would have to resemble an official invitation, but the seal in Lady Finch’s study would help with that. All Agnes had to do was grab it, stamp the wax on the back of the letter, and slip the “invitation” onto the silver postal tray on her way out of the townhouse.

“You know our mother’s words are not true, do you not?” Rose asked as she returned to the task of packing her trunk.

“Hmm?”

“You are not surplus to requirement. You are not too old or too ill-mannered. Sometimes, you are so enchanting that I… envy you—your ease with words, your humor, your bright smile, your natural grace. Anyone would envy you.”

Agnes began to write. “Mother’s words are like a nettle sting; they hurt for a short while. But you, my darling sister, are the dock leaf, and once I have been in your company, the sting goes away entirely. So, do not worry for me.”

“I cannot help it,” Rose replied. “Did you really sneak away to speak with His Grace alone? I did not see him when I found you outside, but… I thought I saw his carriage.”

Agnes’ hand froze, ink bulging onto the paper. “I briefly conversed with him on my way to catch my breath in the shade. He was eager to depart, but his driver had abandoned his post.” She heard the slight tremor in her voice and hoped Rose would not notice. “If you are concerned about me causing a scandal, do not be. I would not do anything to harm your future.”

“I was not worried about that,” Rose said as Agnes heard the thunk of the trunk closing. “I thought… Oh, it does not matter. It was one of those foolish notions that Mother would scold me for.”

Agnes did not dare to turn around. “No, tell me of it.”

“Well, I thought that, perhaps… I was not the only one with a blossoming romance,” Rose confessed shyly. “Of course, I see how silly that is. You have often claimed that you cannot abide His Grace, and though I do not know what you have read about him, I know it cannot be good. But, for a moment, I got carried away, imagining such foolish things.”

“It must be the heat of this chamber, fevering your thoughts,” Agnes replied stiffly as she cut another slice of paper and began the letter again. “Why, His Grace would be the very last gentleman I would consider for a romance.”

Rose sighed. “I thought so. I did tell you it was a foolish notion.”

Agnes wished she could tell her sister everything, lessening the burden of carrying all of her worries and fears by herself. But a decade of acting as Rose’s mother could not be undone so swiftly, and what had happened in the carriage was not something she could share with anyone. Agnes needed to carry that load alone in case her greatest suspicion became reality, and George left her in the dust after stealing victory from her lips.